Written by William Shakespeare

Directed by Salvator Kent

The Pleasance Theatre

Just in time for Valentine’s Day, Edinburgh University Shakespeare Society’s Romeo & Juliet arrives at The Pleasance with unmistakable ambition. Salvator Kent’s direction embraces a maximalist philosophy, restoring passages often trimmed from modern stagings and allowing Shakespeare’s text to unfurl in full, contradictory splendour. The result is a production that reaches for the epic—lush, symbol‑laden, and emotionally unrestrained—yet one whose expanded scope introduces challenges in pacing and clarity that shape the evening’s rhythm.

The production’s focus—lineage, violence, and the suffocating expectations placed upon youth—aligns with EUSC’s stated desire to avoid a “traditional” staging. Though the specifics of this aim are not fully documented, the emphasis on emotional extremity and psychological pressure reframes the lovers not as mythic archetypes but as adolescents navigating impossible demands: an ambitious, accurate and beautifully self-fulfilling with the story itself.

The visual world is where this ambition first coheres. Mary Angélique Boyd’s costumes offer a vivid interplay of fabrics and period suggestion which build upon the harsh differences in Verona’s evening to daytime, while Moira Hamilton’s masks transform the Capulet gathering into a striking, near‑ritualistic tableau: the promise of a Bosch-style imagery and artistry certain make a mark. Even within the modest footprint of The Pleasance, Ben Kay’s set’s layered levels carve out distinctions between private yearning and public hostility, underscoring the rigidity of the social structures that bind both houses. It is a world steeped in tradition, its architecture as unyielding as the grudges that animate it; and often it’s captured and framed remarkably simply with Jack Read‘s lighting, where light and death come together to tell one of the world’s most tragic, greatest, love stories.

Yet the production’s sound landscape proves its most persistent obstacle; largely an issue with the venue, Ella Catherall’s sound design is imaginative – textured, atmospheric, and clearly conceived with dramaturgical intent—but the balance between score and speech falters at crucial moments. But a crucial element, Connie Bailie’s Prologue strains against its accompaniment, and the Capulet party sequence suffers similarly, with key lines submerged beneath the music: notably Dylan Kaeuper performing Tybalt’s simmering resentment and Romeo’s first breathless recognition of Juliet are among the casualties, their narrative importance dulled by the imbalance.

This is particularly regrettable given the cast’s evident commitment to the integrity of the verses. When the text is allowed the space it deserves, the company’s preparation shines. Among the central pair, Anya McChristie’s Juliet emerges as the more grounded presence—natural, unforced, and refreshingly resistant to idealisation. Her youth is neither disguised nor romanticised, lending the play’s darker turns a sharper sting. Opposite her, Sam Gearing’s Romeo leans into a brooding melancholy, framing the character as one preoccupied with mortality long before tragedy tightens its grip.

Violence, is handled with intention thanks to Rebecca Mahar’s fight direction with a real edge of lethal to proceedings. The second half—stretching beyond ninety minutes—works to rebuild momentum, but leaves certain emotional beats less cohesive. Still, Kaeuper’s Tybalt cuts an imposing figure, and Sebastian Schneeberger’s Prince Escalus brings a dignified authority that briefly steadies the surrounding chaos. Across the wider ensemble, several performances carve out nuance in roles often overshadowed. Rufus Goodman’s Benvolio is marked by sincerity and internal conflict, while Isabella Velarde’s Nurse offers a pragmatic steadiness that anchors her scenes. Will Grice shapes Paris into an unexpectedly affable figure, sidestepping the stiffness that frequently defines the role. One of the most striking is Noah Sarvesvaren’s Mercutio, whose restless energy prowls the stage in unpredictable bursts with a bawdy, violent masculinity: his Queen Mab monologue is delivered with clarity and a brittle humour that hints at deeper fractures beneath the bravado.

This incarnation of Romeo & Juliet showcases a company unafraid of scale. Its strengths – particularly in performance, costume, and the integrity of its verse‑speaking – are considerable. Yet technical imbalances and structural choices temper its overall impact. What emerges is a production defined by both impressive aspiration and uneven execution: a staging that reaches high, even when it occasionally falters in the climb.

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